AN: the idea of hobbits having a heart-song, like dwarrows have their One, is borrowed from Falling Back One Life by Silver-Entrantress-Elf.
Sorry that I am starting on new stories when I should be writing on the ones I have already begun and brought to this side.
I have been having problems with my computer, and had temporarily no access to my stories (where I have already written more than half of the next chapters, and didn't want to just write it again, possibly missing an important plot line I had come up with earlier), so when I borrowed my mother's computer I started new stories… this is one of them, and it will probably be a little while before there comes any updates on the story, as I really owe it to the fans of my other stories to start updating on them again.
That's all from me… now get on reading the story!
Ch. 1
The old hobbit, far older than any of his race had ever been (with the single exception of the being that was once known as Smeagol), looked back on the beach behind him.
His heart was breaking upon leaving the last connection he had to his heart-song; the land he had walked upon. But he had lived for 80 years without fading; 12 of those solely for the younger hobbit in front of him, and the following 20 drowning in guilt for the task he left him (before that it had been almost an impossible task to get out of bed every morning, to live something that resembled a full life. He had only done so; to keep his promise to his heart-song). He was willing to live out the rest of eternity with him.
It wasn't like he lost anything by giving up his place in Yavanna's garden; the place he truly longed for, the place that held his family of the heart, his heart itself, was forever bared for him (and he was sure his parents would forgive him for staying with the only person who had made him keep on going for the last 32 years, and not join them at the end of the road as he should have; had promised upon their graves to).
No one who was not a Dwarf was allowed within Mahal's sacred halls (it had been a long time since he had called the maker of the Dwarrows by his elven name, and the name he had grown up knowing him by: Aulë).
As he put his foot on the ship that would sail him, his nephew (truly his son), Gandalf the White (once so long, oh so long, ago known to him as Gandalf the Grey, but still; even if he was harder, more white, he was still his friend) and the last group of the elves still living in middle earth to the Undying Lands, he thought back on the first time he had heard the voice of his heart-song. Or at least the first time he knew that the voice belonged to his heart-song.
"Far over the misty mountains cold, in caverns deep and mountains old …" When he closed his eyes; he could still hear his voice upon the wind…
He had truly given a terrible impression to his family, once upon a time, on their first meeting. And his king… his king had truly thought him weak and useless, just as he himself had thought the Dwarrow king cold and uncaring… how wrong he had been. And while he had known that he needed to follow his heart, when it left the Shire for an adventure to slay a dragon and reclaim its home and kingdom, it wasn't until their escape from the goblins, and the first sight of Erebor, that he knew, truly knew, how big and strong his heart was. Not just in body, but in heart.
Back when the adventure had ended (in blood tears and a hobbit that wanted nothing but to fade away together with his heart-song), when he had returned to the Shire, to live and take care of his garden, just as he had promised his dying heart, he had immediately moved his bedroom to be the one his king had slept in, that night so long ago.
And for 47 and a half years he had shared his bed with the ghost of his love; each day fading more and more, until he was given a young fauntling to care for. One that looked like a child of his love; with the same dark hair and blue eyes. One that could have been borne from his own loins, had he been capable of carrying children.
Finally he found a reason to keep going. He was still fading, and the numbness was ever growing (sometimes it seemed impossible; how could the world ever feel more empty than it did in the moment after his king's last breath), but now, every time he saw the smile on his little ones face, he saw a shadow of his beloved. Every time his little fauntling would be caught in some mischief or other; he would see the visage of two young princes over take him, two princes who once upon a time would have been his nephews, had his world not ended in ruin.
As he was laid down in a bed (especially prepared for him by the only friends he still had who remembered the voice of his heart-song… even more beloved for that fact) on the ship, he felt slumber come upon him. But no… he wanted to see his world, his beloved's world, one last time before saying goodbye to it forever.
He struggled weakly against the caring hands which was tugging him in, as if he was not even in his tweens yet, but he could feel exhaustion creep upon him.
In that moment, with the sound of the seagulls and the happy voices of the elves, and his nephew (son), in his ears; he knew that he wouldn't make it to the Undying Land.
Truly he did not care anymore. He had kept his promise for 90 years… that had to be enough. And he had been a good hobbit (the nastiness with the ring not included)… If he was lucky he would be able to visit Mahal's halls. Wasn't Yavanna and Mahal spouses after all? They would, if anyone, be able to understand his plight.
Bilbo's eyes grew steadily heavier, his breath more swallow. And as he lay; waiting for the end, he couldn't help but think everything through one last time. From the first meeting with the first member of his self-made family, to the last breathe of his heart-song. It had been a short time, so agonizingly short, but it had been what had made his life worth living.
Sure; he had looked the accomplished gentle hobbit, even with being called 'Mad Baggins', and he would never regret taking in young Frodo, but after… after his fading started; he never felt whole again. And if that was how the ring wreath felt, even if just when awake, he truly understood how they had become what they had become.
While he lay in happy thoughts of a time long past… a time when his heart and family was walking around next to him, and were not just memories… a time when, despite the dangers, he was whole; his slow breathing disappeared, his weak muscle, which had once been a heart (once; before his heart stopped breathing and faded away), stopped beating and with a smile of remembrance Bilbo Baggins died.
…o0O0o…
They had been sailing for about 3 hours, and Frodo had finally lost a little of his fascination with the sea; before (before his parents drowning in the river, before Sam almost drowning to follow him… before) he had been fascinated with the thought of being able to move above the water, of sailing the waste sea, and finally being able to do so had held his attention for hours after their journey began.
But now he wanted to talk to his uncle… to once again hear his favorite tale; of his uncle's journey with 13 Dwarrows, to fight a dragon and reclaim the throne of Erebor.
He might have had his own adventure, but he preferred not to think of it; it made him feel tainted. But uncle Bilbo's adventure always sounded so fun (so full of laughter), and now he wanted to hear of what had clearly been the best time in his uncles life (even if that admittance made him feel a little lurch in his chest), a time he had heard about again and again… it never grew old (mostly because of the deep joy upon his uncle's face every time he re-told the story, as if he was experiencing it once again).
Gandalf watched his young friend shake of the shadows he had been carrying since being stabbed by the ring wraith, and turn toward his uncle's chamber. He knew what the younger one was about to do; he had heard about his fascination with the story of his uncles adventure, and he was happy that his friend had not lost his childish joys with his own adventure… that he could still feel joy, sorrow and suspense from hearing of a journey that had happened long ago.
Suddenly a wail was heard through the ship; a sound of a heart breaking, taking one more blow than it could possibly bare.
Gandalf ran toward the older hobbits room, joining with Elrond just before he reached the door.
The sight that met them, when they entered the room, brought pain to their hearts, yet both couldn't help but feel slightly relieved.
Gandalf reached for the younger, and now only surviving, hobbit on board. As he let his hand fall on Frodo's shoulder; he opened his mouth, to soothe the soul of the one left behind. But even with his good intentions; he was unable to keep out the relief from his voice.
"He is gone Frodo!"
Upon hearing the relief in the voice of his old friend, the old friend of his uncle, Frodo turned toward Gandalf in anger.
"How can you find joy in his death…? He was your friend, he…" and Frodo broke down in tears.
After all that he had lost; he had believed (hoped) that the Valar wouldn't take from him the last person he could call his home.
Elrond tried to soothe Frodo's tears of sorrow and anger, yet did not know what to say. Finally he turned toward the hobbit who had once been his friend, even back when he had been surrounded with Dwarfs.
"May your journey take you to where you belong, and may you fin joy in Aulë's sacred halls!"
At Elrond's words; Frodo turned puzzled, and slightly blank, eyes on the elven lord.
"What do you mean? He is a child of Yavanna, he has left for her wide valleys of green grass!"
Gandalf shook his head in protest.
"I hope not… I hope that he have finally proven his dedication, and will be allowed to join his heart."
Frodo just looked confused for a long while, but then understanding, mingled with horror, was shown on his face.
"No…no it cannot be… Uncle would have told me… he wouldn't even have been able to live for so long… hobbits fade with the death of their heart-song within a short time, no more than a decade; everyone knows that."
But even after voicing his words; he kept staring at his uncle, with sorrow, horror and relief painting his face.
"He never told you?" It was Lord Elrond.
At the soft shake of Frodo's head, he nodded in understanding. He himself had never again, after the first broken telling of how his heart-song, and his nephews, were dead and gone, gone, gone, heard a single word of the deep love Bilbo had felt for his king. It did not surprise him that he had never told Frodo about it. He had read 'There and back again' and knew that many things had not been mentioned. It would be natural if the only version Frodo knew was the one written down.
"The world has brought Bilbo Baggins many a hardship, but also much joy… we must not forget that even though he was fading; your uncle have had a full life… a life he will now be able to share stories of with his loved once."
As Frodo gave a decisive nod, and laid a soft kiss on the brow of the hobbit who had taught him almost everything he knew (including how to love again after staggering loses; he should have known by that, but had foolishly believed it had been from his uncles own experience with his parents deaths), the two tall once bowed their head in respect for a life well lived, and once again Gandalf placed his hand on Frodo's shoulder, and repeated Elrond's words.
"May your journey take you to where you belong, and may you fin joy in Aulë's sacred halls!"
After a light sniffing sound from Frodo, the three of them left the room. Even though Bilbo's essence was long gone, his body would be buried in the Undying Lands.
For now they could do no more than celebrate the life that had been Bilbo Baggins, share his stories, and drink to his happiness on the other side (hopefully it would be spent in the arms of his love, his heart and his king).
